Hayward 'Chav Phenomenon

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Crime, Media, Culture

DOI: 10.1177/17416590060617082006; 2; 9Crime Media Culture

Keith Hayward and Majid YarunderclassThe ‘chav’ phenomenon: Consumption, media and the construction of a new

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The ‘chav’ phenomenon: Consumption, media

and the construction of a new underclass

KEITH HAYWARD, University of Kent, UK

MAJID YAR, University of Kent, UK

Abstract

This article argues that the decline of the ‘underclass’ discourse in the UK, and the riseof the ‘chav’, are not unconnected. We contend that there are numerous homologies

between the meaning content, objects and tenor of these two terms, and suggest that

the ‘chav’ represents a popular reconfiguration of the underclass idea. However, we are

also keen to note the way in which the concept of social marginality is reconfigured in

this substitution. Specifically, we argue that the discourse of the underclass turned

crucially upon a (perceived or real) pathology in the working classes’ relations to produc-

tion and socially productive labour. Its emergent successor, the concept of the ‘chav’, is

in contrast oriented to purportedly pathological class dispositions in relation to the sphere

of consumption. In a bid to highlight this shift we consider the emergence of debatesupon social marginality and consumption practices, and attempt to locate popular media

discourse surrounding the ‘chav’ within this frame, including the various ways in which

purportedly pathological consumption practices serve to organise this form of social

classification.

Key wordschav(s); consumer culture; media stereotypes; social exclusion; underclass

The nomad . . . is distinguished from the civilised man by his repugnance to regular

and continuous labour – by his want of providence in laying up a store for the future– by his inability to perceive consequences ever so slightly removed from immediate

apprehension – by his passion for stupefying herbs and roots . . . and for intoxicating

fermented liquors . . . by an immediate love of gaming . . . by his love of libidinous

dances . . . by his delight in warfare and all perilous sports – by his desire for vengeance

– by the looseness of his notions as to property – by the absence of chastity among

his women, and his disregard for female honour. (Mayhew, 1851–62: 6, Volume I)

CRIME MEDIA CULTURE © 2006 SAGE Publications, London, Thousand Oaks, CA and New Delhi,www.sagepublications.com, ISSN 1741-6590, Vol 2(1): 9–28 [DOI: 10.1177/1741659006061708]

ARTICLE








INTRODUCTION

From time to time, a concept breaks out from the normally restricted sphere of academic

circulation, and becomes a part of the popular lexicon. ‘Postmodernism’ is one such term,and ‘globalization’ yet another. Similarly, in the late 1980s and early 1990s, the term

‘underclass’ became a mainstay in media discussions about social welfare, crime and

disorder, and changing values and morals. The concept, popularized by the conservative

American political scientist Charles Murray, functioned as a focus for reflections (from

both the political Left and Right) on the social causes and consequences of mass unem-

ployment and shifting behavioural norms among the ‘lower’ classes. Indeed, it can be

suggested that the discourse of the underclass became a lighting rod for wider social

anxieties (or even a ‘moral panic’ (Cohen, 1972)) about a society increasingly polarized

by the crisis of Keynesian economics and state welfarism, and the subsequent neoliberal

reordering of public policy under the aegis of Thatcherism, Reaganism and the ascen-

dance of the New Right. But, as with all such periodic eruptions of heightened social sensi-

tivity to change, the wave of concern abated, the once heated debate cooled, and the

terminology of the underclass began to lose its hold in the wider public imagination. Now,

15 or so years after its first dramatic rise to prominence, the underclass concept is con-

spicuous largely by its absence from mainstream media representations and political

debates. However, the past year or so has seen the rapid rise of a new terminology in

which socially marginal groups are characterized, classified and understood – the concept

of the ‘chav’. For example, we note the results of a Lexis-Nexis search for the appearance

of key words ‘chav’ and ‘underclass’ (‘Anywhere’) within ‘UK national newspapers’ (n. 18)between 1995 and the present (search initiated 7 June 2005).1 Interestingly, during this

period, citations of the term ‘underclass’ fell by 50 per cent or more, while uses of the

term ‘chav’ skyrocketed from virtually zero in the years 1995–2003 to a startling 946

during the last 12 months (a ‘Google’ search for the term ‘chav’ on 4 April 2005 revealed

a total of 302,000 hits).

The starting point for the present article is the suggestion that the decline of the under-

class discourse, and the rise of the ‘chav’, are not unconnected. We note that there are

numerous homologies between the meaning content, objects and tenor of these two

terms, and suggest that the ‘chav’ represents a popular reconfiguration of the underclassidea. However, we also note the way in which the concept of social marginality is recon-

figured in this substitution. Specifically, we argue that the discourse of the underclass

turned crucially upon a (perceived or real) pathology in the working classes’ relations to

production and socially productive labour. Its emergent successor, the concept of the

‘chav’, is in contrast oriented to purportedly pathological class dispositions in relation to

the sphere of consumption. The locus of identity construction, by which popular media

position and produce social marginality, has moved from one pole of the

production–consumption dyad to the other, reflecting, we suggest, more general shifts

in the modes by which collective and individual social positions are judged and negoti-ated. For a modern social order oriented around the relations of production and labour,

work provided a locus for the cultural construction of class belonging; in a ‘late modern’

social order, increasingly driven by notions of ‘consumer choice’ and ‘consumer

CRIME MEDIA CULTURE 2(1)10








citizenship’ (Bauman, 1998; Young, 1999), the use and display of symbolic cultural goods

displaces work as the site within which dynamics of identity construction and belonging

are played out.

The article is organized into three sections. In the first we consider the concept of the

underclass, mapping the ways in which the ‘crisis’ of socially productive and reproductive

relations functioned as its basic underlying principle. In the second part, we turn to

consider the emergence of debates upon social marginality and consumption practices,

and attempt to locate the emergent discourse of the ‘chav’ within this frame. In the third

section, we engage in a detailed exploration of how the ‘chav’ as a new underclass is

currently being constructed in media discourse, and the ways in which purportedly patho-

logical consumption practices serve to organize this form of social classification.

This article also has the implicit aim of seeking to kick-start a critical sociological debate

on what has, so far, been a crucially neglected subject. That said, we accept that this

study is far from exhaustive in its analysis of shifting cultural and class patterns. For

example, the emerging relationship between consumption and classification is deeply

imbricated with existing issues around ‘race’ and social marginality. However, these racial-

ized dimensions of the debate fall outside the scope of the present piece and deserve

concerted attention in a separate article (a useful starting point for such an analysis may

be found in McLaughlin, 2005). This reservation aside, we nevertheless hope that this

article will serve to stimulate interest in how consumption, class, marginality and identity

continue to intersect and coalesce within contemporary western consumer societies.

THE UNDERCLASS DEBATE AND THE CLASS CRISIS OFPRODUCTION

Murray (1990) began his influential discussion of the ‘emerging British underclass’ by

noting that the substance of the concept is far from new. He acknowledges that it can

be traced at least as far back as the early Victorian period, when writers such as Henry

Mayhew made distinctions between ‘deserving’, ‘honest’ and ‘undeserving’, ‘dishonest’

poor (p. 1). Other synonyms include the ‘unrespectable’, ‘depraved’, ‘debased’, ‘dis-

reputable’ or ‘feckless’ poor (p. 1). It has been noted by authors such as Morris (1994)how, in the period of mass urbanization and industrialization at the start of the 19th

century, these purportedly ‘dangerous classes’ were popularly held to present an

imminent threat to social order, stability, safety and property. For Murray, the underclass

and its synonyms denote a social strata (not unlike Marx’s lumpenproletariat ) quite differ-

ent from the ‘working poor’. For Murray (2001), the underclass is distinguished by a

distinctive set of cultural dispositions that inform behavioural patters and choices, such

as chronic welfare dependence and antisocial conduct (p. 26). This distinctive cultural

milieu, at odds with that of society as a whole, is deemed to exhibit pathological dispo-

sitions towards two key social responsibilities: the need and obligation to engage in paidemployment, and the need and obligation to provide a stable, nuclear family environment

in which children can be raised. With respect to the first of these, Murray claims that

HAYWARD & YAR THE ‘CHAV’ PHENOMENON 11








young men of the underclass are dismissive of the notion of self-reliance through work,

and typically choose to evade employment in favour of ‘exploiting the dole’ and engaging

in property crime (pp. 27–8). This claim is supported by statistics indicating, first, that a

growing proportion of young males are unemployed, despite rapidly falling levels of

unemployment and record levels of job creation (p. 27); also, opinion surveys are mobil-

ized, showing that among many underclass males there is a ready willingness to choose

unemployment over employment (Buckingham, 1996: 177). This is contrasted with

previous generations of the poor who held work in high esteem, and saw it as their duty

to ‘work regularly and work hard’ (Murray, 2001: 27). With respect to the second cultural

disposition, underclass males are seen to be delinquent in that they fail to provide parent-

ing to the children that they promiscuously father. This claim is supported by citing the

increase in ‘illegitimate’ births among the underclass; almost 40 per cent of children in

the UK are now said to be born to unmarried mothers (p. 32). The combination of these

two orientations is deemed responsible for subsequent behavioural problems that

emanate from the underclass: non-participation in paid employment impoverishes

communities and encourages crime, and delinquency from parenting robs children of

strong role models and discipline, resulting in a generation of children who ‘run wild’ and

perpetrate further acts of an antisocial character. Thus, for Murray, the underclass is distin-

guished by a choice to break with long-established norms about one’s role in the relations

of economic production (one needs to work and ought to work) and the relations of social

reproduction (one needs and ought to marry and raise properly disciplined and socialized

children). This association was clearly evident in British press reporting in the 1990s, with

repeated crusades against supposed underclass ‘dole cheats’ and ‘welfare mothers’ (seeGrover and Soothill, 1996; Duncan et al., 1999; Golding, 1999).

It should be clarified at this juncture that by no means all theorists and commen-

tators on the underclass agree with Murray’s claim that it originates in a culture of feck-

lessness and irresponsibility. In the USA for example, writers such as William Julius

Wilson (1987, 1996), focusing on the marginalization of Afro-Americans, allocate

responsibility to systemic failures in integrating Blacks into the labour market, resulting

in social isolation and the absence of working men who could act as role models (see

also Lawson, 1992; Young, 2002: 458–9). Also writing in the USA, the likes of Barry

Schwartz (1999) blame the rise of an underclass on the culture of rampant market liber-alism, which legitimates selfish individualism and social irresponsibility, and undermines

values of solidarity and community welfare. In the UK, writers such as Field (1989, 1996)

point to structural and political factors in the creation of an underclass: the rapid decline

of ‘traditional’ working-class jobs in the manufacturing sector, coupled with low pay in

those jobs available, and insufficient opportunities for education and training that would

offer viable paths out of the trap of welfare poverty. However, what is significant for

present purposes is what these various perspectives, originating from various points in

the political spectrum, have in common. All discussions of the underclass, whatever their

analytical focus (culture, politics, the individual, or the system) accord central signifi-

cance to the lack of a ‘normal’ role in the productive relations of society. It is in the

failure (whether by choice or compulsion) to engage in economically and socially

productive labour , that the essence of the underclass’ marginality is to be found, and it









is from this exclusion that other associated pathologies (despair, violent conflict, crime,

drug abuse) are seen to emerge. For all the above authors, to be ‘of society’ is to

produce; lacking such a role, one falls out of society proper all together, becoming part

of its non-assimilable desiderata.

FROM PRODUCTION TO CONSUMPTION: IDENTITY,LIFESTYLE AND THE NEW UNDERCLASS

The role of consumption patterns and practices in the construction of individual (self) and

collective (social) identities cannot be considered as a novel phenomenon. Authors such

as McKendrick et al. (1982) have explored consumption in 18th-century England, claiming

that during this period it became increasingly central in the negotiation of social standing.Interestingly, McKendrick and his colleagues view the ‘labouring classes’ as participants

in this consumerism, drawn to ‘emulation’ of elites as a means to consolidate their own

social prestige. Campbell (1989) seeks to show how, during the same era, individual self-

realization through consumption came to the fore, a development based upon the appro-

priation of Romantic conceptions of selfhood. Moving forward to the start of the 20th

century, Thorstein Veblen (1925) identified the emergence of ‘conspicuous consumption’

as a means for social class differentiation. Examining the post-World War II consumer

boom, Richard Hoggart (1958) analysed the consolidation of a new youth culture among

the working classes which derived its coordinates from ‘Americanized’ styles of dress, hair,

and leisure. This focus on the role of consumption in the construction of working-class

youth subcultures continued into the 1970s and 1980s, with the likes of Hebdige (1979)

examining the ways in which distinctive styles (such as punk) were mobilized as forms of

resistance to the marginalization of the working classes in the context of postcolonial

decline and economic crisis. All of this serves to demonstrate that the significance of

consumption in the construction of identity, the struggle for status and the negotiation

of social position has long-standing roots in western industrialized society. However, as

we shall detail later, recent decades may be understood in terms of a significant shift

which has served to accord consumption an increasingly dominant role in the production

of social distinctions and classifications.In recent works, sociologists such as Zygmunt Bauman (1998) and Jock Young (1999)

have identified a reordering of class, status and the lines of sociocultural

inclusion/exclusion. This they attribute to the crisis of Fordist industrialism and state

welfarism, and the subsequent post-Fordist and market neoliberal resettlement. This tran-

sition marks the effective end of the modern ‘society of producers’ with its emphasis upon

the ‘work ethic’ and labour as the core criterion through which self- and social identities

are negotiated (Bauman, 1998: 2, 16–19). Work can no longer bear this burden when it

is increasingly ‘flexibilized’, casualized, part-time, temporary and insecure, and full

employment has given way to chronically high levels of under- and unemployment,especially for the working class (see also Taylor (2000) on post-Fordism, deindustrializa-

tion and the ‘jobs crisis’). We now live in a ‘society of consumers’ in which social









membership is increasingly grounded in the ‘aesthetics of consumption’ (Bauman, 1998:

23–5). As Hayward (2004) puts it:

what is unique about the last few decades of the twentieth century is the way that

the creation and expression of identity via the display and celebration of consumer goods have triumphed over and above other more traditional modes of self-expression.

(p. 144)

Social and status differences are generated and maintained via ‘lifestyle’, which in turn is

organized through patterns of consumption. Individuals not only recognize themselves,

but are crucially recognized by others, through their publicly visible consumption choices.

Shared consumption practices thus furnish a basis upon which class and hierarchical

boundaries are drawn between ‘us’ and ‘them’, defining those who are included and

those who are excluded from group social membership (Southerton, 2002).

The analyses developed by Bauman and others serve to situate our argument about

the shifting construction of the underclass from the sphere of production to the sphere

of consumption. This shift partakes of the more general transition to a ‘society of

consumers’ and its associated modes for organizing the divisions of social membership.

However, we depart from Bauman’s analysis in one significant respect. For Bauman and

others (see for example Keyfitz, 1992), what marks out the ‘underclass’ of the ‘new poor’

is their inability to participate in the sphere of market-mediated consumption. This group

are excluded from social membership since they lack the economic resources necessary

to fulfil a meaningful role as consumer-citizens. As Bauman (1998) puts it: ‘In the society

of consumers . . . the poor . . . are recast as “flawed consumers”. This leaves themwithout a useful social function – actual or potential – with far-reaching consequences

for the social standing of the poor’ (p. 2).

Where previously the inability or unwillingness to work assured exclusion from social

membership, now the inability or unwillingness to consume furnishes the grounds

marginalization to the hinterlands of normality. However, in our view, something rather

different is currently occurring in the construction of a new underclass qua ‘pathological’

consumers. Current popular discussion of the ‘chav’ focuses not on the inability to

consume, but on the excessive participation in forms of market-oriented consumption

which are deemed aesthetically impoverished. The perceived ‘problem’ with this ‘newunderclass’ is that they consume in ways deemed ‘vulgar’ and hence lacking in ‘distinc-

tion’ by superordinate classes. Thus, as we shall elaborate in detail later, ‘chavs’ and

‘chavishness’ are identified on the grounds of the taste and style that inform their

consumer choices. Recent popular discussions correspondingly focus upon: clothing

(branded or designer ‘casual wear’ and ‘sportswear’), jewellery (‘chunky’ gold rings and

chains), cosmetics (‘excessive’ make-up, sunbed tans), accessories (mobile phones), drinks

(‘binge’ drinking, especially ‘premium lagers’ such as Stella Artois), and music (R&B, hip-

hop). This discourse which pathologizes and marginalizes is fundamentally decoupled

from the question of economic capital , replacing it instead with a perceived lack of cultural

capital (Bourdieu, 1984) which could inform appropriately ‘tasteful’ and ‘refined’ aesthetic

choices. It is in this context that we can understand the phenomenon of the so-called

‘celebrity chav’ – one who enjoys a plenitude of economic resources, but whose stocks









of cultural resources are so ‘debased’ as to result in a fascination with ‘expensive vulgar-

ity’. Lets us be clear here – we do not dispute the claim that social, political and economic

changes have been responsible for material impoverishment and immiseration, and have

further intersected with problems of crime and social disorder (see Currie, 1997; Taylor,

2000). Rather, in examining the construction of a new social marginality (perhaps an

emergent ‘folk devil’) that is displacing the ‘underclass’ of the 1980s and 1990s, we

discern a fundamental shift to consumerist aesthetics as the grounds of typification, deni-

gration, and vilification.

CONSTRUCTING THE ‘CHAV’: THREE THEMES IN THECREATION OF A LATE-MODERN PARIAH

Shifting gears from modes of inquiry concerned with the productive-economic sphere

towards more interpretive forms of critical and cultural exploration, we now wish to

embark on a brief examination of how notions of the ‘chav’ have come to be constructed

within media and popular discourse. More specifically, our goal here is to unpick the ways

in which key contemporary sources of ‘authority’ on ‘chav culture’ have sought to identify

and stigmatize ‘chavs’ as a new and distinct (sub)stratum of late-modern society. We will

argue that a central element in this stigmatization process has been the way in which

notions of the ‘chav’ have frequently been organized around and predicated upon a series

of supposedly pathological (and allegedly irresponsible and irrational) consumption prac-

tices and choices. The section will proceed in three short parts, each one focusing on a

purported facet of ‘chav culture’ that, if we are to believe contemporary commentators,

serve as explicit indicators of a new form of ubiquitous underclass.

Give a ‘chav’ a name: The semantics of exclusion

There is nothing intrinsically new about the phenomenon of marginalized youths occu-

pying public space(s) and falling foul of both the authorities and public opinion (Corrigan,

1976; Fiske, 1989; Presdee, 1994; Ferrell, 2001). The latest articulation involves groups

of young people, clad predominantly in sports apparel, who engage in minor forms of

unruly behaviour in and around town centres, entertainment zones and certain fast-food

outlets. Indeed, during the 1990s a plethora of (highly derogatory) terms emerged in

various parts of the United Kingdom that sought to overtly label such behaviour and its

associated conventions of meaning, symbolism, and style. These names include but are

not limited to: ‘Scallies’ (Merseyside), ‘Neds’ (Glasgow), ‘Townies’ (Oxford/Cambridge and

most university towns), ‘Rarfies’, ‘Charvers’ (Newcastle/North East) ‘Kevs’ (London/Bristol),

‘Janners’ (Plymouth), ‘Spides’ (Belfast), ‘Hood Rats’, ‘Rat Boys’, ‘Bazzas’, ‘Kappa Slappas’,

‘Skangers’, ‘Scutters’, ‘Stigs’, ‘Sengas’ and ‘Yarcos’. What is new and interesting, however,

is the way that one term – ‘chav’ – has triumphed above all others as the dominantsynonym. Indeed, for many commentators, ‘chav’ was ‘the word of 2004’ (Burchill,

2005).2 While this may or may not be the case, few would argue that ‘chav’ has emerged









as an increasingly ubiquitous term within popular discourse, a catchall epithet used to

pour scorn on everyone from unwed teenage mothers to high-profile celebrities such as

Posh and Becks (ex Spice Girl Victoria Adams and her husband, the England football

captain, David Beckham; see below). But how exactly has this situation come about? Why

has the term ‘chav’ struck a chord with the wider public consciousness while similar terms

have failed to transcend regional boundaries?

The first thing to recognize is that, unlike similar names, the word ‘chav’ has long-

established associations with notions of marginalization and social exclusion. In terms of

its etymology, most lexicographers agree that ‘chav’ owes its origins to the Romany dialect

word for small child (‘chavo’ or ‘chavi’). This is borne out by the fact that more recent

utilizations of the word (including its use as a term of address for a friend or for a young

adult male) have emerged as colloquial expressions within North Kent in the South East

of England, an area popular with Gypsy travellers since the early 19th century. Further-

more, various recent explanations of the term ‘chav’ state with confidence that the word

originates in the Medway town of Chatham: ‘The word chav has become common in

southern England, and is generally thought to come from Chatham girls (Chatham is a

town in Kent.)’ (Oxford Advanced Learners’ Dictionary , 2003). Interestingly, despite recent

attempts to regenerate the town of Chatham and, in particular, its functionally obsoles-

cent dockyard area, the Medway Borough remains an area with high rates of unemploy-

ment and above-average levels of poverty and social deprivation. From its earliest origins,

then, as a vernacular noun within English common parlance, the term ‘chav’ has been

connected with communities who have experienced social deprivation in one form or

another.However, while ‘chav’ was traditionally employed in Kent as an expression of amity or

familiarity, more recent utilizations have adopted a far more vicious and discriminatory

form. Indeed, several popular and wholly inaccurate acronymic etymologies of the word

‘chav’ (and increasingly ‘chavette’) have since taken hold within the public imagination,

including, ‘[C]ouncil [h]oused [a]nd [v]iolent’, ‘[C]ouncil [h]ouse [v]ermin’ and bizarrely

‘[Ch]eltenham [Av]erage’ (apparently, this recent interpolation is a term of abuse attached

to young people in Gloucestershire who lack the requisite qualifications to enter

Cheltenham College, one of the foremost private schools in the UK). Leaving aside the

overt prejudice inherent in these acronyms, what is more important, at least in terms ofour argument, is how these fabrications serve to firmly realign the word ‘chav’ with

stereotypical notions of lower-class, disaffected urban youth. Consider, for example, the

definition of the word ‘chav’ proffered in the best-selling 2004 book The Little Book of

Chavs (Bok, 2004): ‘chav: Britain’s new burgeoning underclass’. This association with the

urban (and increasingly suburban) underclass is now extremely strong, reinforced almost

daily by both tabloid headlines and chic broadsheet ‘style’ inserts. Indeed, a brief review

of some of 190 alternative definitions of ‘chav’ posted on the on-line slang dictionary site

www.urbandictionary.com reveals the extent to which the word is now, for many, a term

of intense class-based abhorrence:

As virulent as bubonic plague and spreading like rats emerging from their lairs, these

undesirables are spawning a legion of illegitimate ‘chavlets’.









These sub-human runts have Burberry caps and Adidas trousers tucked into red Reebok

socks. But the worst thing about the chav is that they have genitalia thus being allowed

to procreate and birth new little runtish chavs. Soon like a cancer they will spread and

take over the whole of England.

Humanoid in appearance, but primitive and animalistic in nature, chavs are fast

becoming the bane of humanity. Now all but classified as a completely separate

species, chavs took the left fork of the road of evolution when everybody else went

right.

The chav is like a wild beast. The chav is commonly found in packs hunting on the

open plains of the council estate. Their main source of food is found at the local

McDonald’s, where a Big Mac and fries will see them tamed for over twenty minutes

. . . Chavs are responsible for the crime ratings [sic] increase that their country of origin

has seen over the last 5 years. Unfortunately, chavs are seen as the cancer of the United

Kingdom and as such, many professionals have been searching for a cure. As of yet,

all known cures are still illegal.

The striking similarity between such quotes and the type of language used to describe

the so-called ‘Great Unwashed’ of Victorian England is hard to miss (see Roberts, 1971;

Stedman-Jones, 1971; Pearson, 1975). Moreover, just as was the case in the 19th century,

when terms such as ‘moral wretch’, ‘degenerate poor’, ‘depraved nomad’, and ‘savage

outcast’ all ultimately came to be incorporated under the umbrella term ‘dangerous class’,

the word ‘chav’ is increasingly acting as a ubiquitous structural category – a soft semantic

target for those keen to rebadge the underprivileged and socially excluded among us as

a new from of feckless underclass.

‘Blinging it’: Consumer culture and the ‘chav’ identity – fromghetto despair to ‘ghetto fabulous’

It has become a cliché to say we now inhabit a consumer society (Baudrillard, 1970, 1981;

Campbell, 1989; Bauman, 1992, 1998; Featherstone, 1994). But what does this state-

ment actually mean? It is our contention that it has two main implications for the way

we in the West live our lives. The first thing to recognize is the extent to which

consumerism has permeated all levels of society. The vast majority of people in the indus-

trialized West now live in a world in which their everyday existence is, to a greater or

lesser degree, dominated by the pervasive triad of advertising/marketing, the stylization

of social life, and mass consumption. The second important thing to stress regarding the

cultural significance of market culture is the continued move towards consumption as a

mode of expression:

In a culture of consumption, the collective focus is on self definition through the

purchase of goods. Status differentials are based less on one’s role in the productive sphere than on one’s ability to consume. Social relations are mediated through objects

. . . As group affiliation at work is replaced by individual achievement, and the role of

the family as a source of ascribed status is lessened, individuals attempt to differentiate









themselves through their ‘lifestyles’, a term which largely connotes consumption

patterns. (Anderson and Wadkins, 1992: 149–50)

This relationship between consumer goods and the construction of self in late modernity

is of great importance. So encompassing is the ethos of consumerism within (late) capi-talist society that, for many individuals, self-identity and self-realization can now only be

accomplished through material means – money (in the form of commodities) as ‘self laun-

dering’. Thus, identity, as Christopher Lasch (1979) brilliantly pointed out, takes on the

form of a ‘consumption-oriented narcissism’. Twenty years after Lasch’s seminal mono-

graph, the full force of his message is only now being felt. In the school playground, the

pub or restaurant, the nightclub and on the street corner, products and material posses-

sions are now the primary indices of identity for virtually all strata of society, establishing

status but, more importantly, imbuing individuals with a (narcissistic) sense of who they

are (Hayward, 2004: 4–5). Such thinking is central to our overarching argument, for ifcontemporary fascination with the ‘chav’ is about anything it is about a reconfiguration

of the ‘underclass’ idea through the lens of an unmediated consumer society.

As discussed earlier, underclass descriptions, whether academic or populist, have

tended historically to favour either a social democratic explanation (Dahrendorf, 1985,

1987; Wilson, 1987, 1996), or a more authoritarian, cultural critique typically associated

with the radical right (Murray, 1984, 1990). In the former approach, a social structural

argument is proffered, based around the shifting economic and spatial practices associ-

ated with postindustrialism. In the latter, a more alarming set of factors is mobilized,

encompassing everything from the recent renewal of interest in hereditary and constitu-

tional factors (Hernstein and Murray, 1984), to the view that current social and political

norms have served to destroy existing ‘mediating structures’, compromising established

sources of social solidarity such as the family unit, the neighbourhood and religious associ-

ation in the process (see Berger and Neuhaus, 1977; Wilson, 1985). While, admittedly,

many of these characteristics are never far from the surface when ‘chavs’ are discussed

(in particular the belief that ‘chavs’ represent a ‘lost generation’, entirely dependent on

state benefits; on this particular point see Winnett (2005) for an account of the Labour

Government’s latest acronymic construct: the ‘NEET’ – ‘not in education, employment or

training’), it is our contention that, in contrast to previous commentaries on underclass

groups, ‘chavs’ are no longer viewed as a stratum of the population who have chosen toreject or invert mainstream aspirations or desires. Instead the ‘new British underclass’ are

increasingly understood as ‘flawed consumers’, unable or unwilling to make the ‘right’

type of consumer choice.

Consider the way that, within popular discourse, the ‘chav’ is both socially constructed

and widely vilified because of a set of very narrow and seemingly irrational and un-

aesthetic consumer choices. While the term ‘chav’ has become an increasingly universal

moniker, used to brand everyone from teenage single mums to car ‘cruisers’ in their late

20s, the range of material items used to identify and categorize ‘chavs’ remains very

narrow indeed. Consider, for example, the ‘How to Spot a Chav’ page on the infamouswebsite www.chavscum.co.uk, the self-styled ‘Guide to Britain’s New Ruling Class’

and wellspring of much of the recent media hype to have surrounded the ‘chav’









phenomenon. According to the anonymous authors of www.chavscum.co.uk, ‘Chavs

have such a tribal dress code that you can spot one yards away! Now what makes the

Chavs attire so funny is that they think they are at the cutting edge of fashion . . . In

reality what they do look like are a bunch of fucking pikeys!’. This ‘tribal dress code’ (see

Figure 1), they claim, is comprised of a combination of seven key indicators:3

The Baseball Cap: ‘What can I say? I’m convinced that male Chavs are issued with a

Baseball Cap at birth! Disregard caps worn at a jaunty angle or back to front, the Chav

will use his cap peak to conceal his identity to the max! Look out for the particularly

hideous Burberry variant . . .’

Branded Shirts and Jackets: ‘. . . The bigger the brand name on the garment, the

better! Look out for what was this summers [sic] classic, the pink Nickelson polo shirt

and this winters classic, the sky blue McKenzie hoody!’

Trainers: ‘Most Chavs don’t actually own a pair of shoes. All they have are whitetrainers. Like all Chav attire, a prominent, Chav respected brand name is a must! Also

the Chavs trainers must be clean (prison white) to make it look like they were

purchased just that day!’

Gold Pendants:

Thick Gold Chains: ‘. . . Size matters, only count a chain if it’s at least 5mm thick!

Don’t be put off if it’s a rainy day, Chavs will wear their chains outside of any garment

on full display!’

Sovereign Rings: ‘. . . This classy piece of hand furniture makes the wearer appear

to be rich and also comes in handy for giving the missus a back hander!’


FIGURE 1 Urban ‘chav’ style

Source: http://www.ratemyhat.co.uk








Big Hoopy Ear Gold Earrings: ‘Nothing says “filthy chavster” quite like a nice thick

pair of big hoopy gold earrings! When I say big, I mean a inside diameter of at least

2 inches! If you see someone with earrings so big they rest on the wearers shoulders,

you are in the presence of Chav royalty!’

(All abridged from www.chavscum.co.uk)

Similarly, the link between consumption patterns and the ‘chav lifestyle’ has extended

beyond ostentatious displays of designer labels and jewellery to include a critique of so

called ‘chav haunts’ or, more specifically, a pejorative list of high street retail

outlets/consuming spaces which allegedly ‘chavs’ tend to frequent. Consider the follow-

ing typical posting at www.chavtowns.co.uk regarding the apparent increase of ‘chavs’

in the Worcestershire spa town of Malvern:

I’ve observed a chain reaction of social devolution. Consider the following reactions:

Small middle class rural town + McDonalds + Halfords [a nationwide chain that sells

car parts and automotive accessories] = Chavs

Most of us have seen that in action. But this is followed by:

Chavs + retail park = Matalan [a discount clothing chain]

And thence:

Chavs + Matalan + supermarket = Morrisons [a national supermarket chain]

Now, a Morrisons might not seem like disaster to you, but this is Malvern dammit, we

have a Waitrose [another national supermarket chain that prides itself on a more

expensive range of products] and we’re proud of it!!! Now, Halfords does actually have

a function in the world (even decent people need head lamp bulbs and wiper blades)

so I blame McDonalds Inc for the downfall of society. Halfords is a catalyst to the Chav

chain reaction, to be sure, but McDonalds is the reagent responsible for all the

damage.

Note also the extension of chav/underclass-related discourse from its typical association

with the inner city to a small town in a predominantly rural area.

Having examined the material symbols and codes of meaning behind contemporaryrepresentations of the ‘chav’ from an external point of view, we now wish to go beyond

the narrow interpretations of ‘chav’ observers and media commentators, and instead

adopt a more explanatory position regarding the relationships that exist between

consumer culture and ‘chav’ identity. What is the ‘logic of action’ at work here behind

the overt displays of brand names and other material symbols associated with ‘chav’

culture? Why have certain items become so desirable they are now importantly perceived

as essential to individual identity, shifting as that may be from moment to moment?

The key thing to stress here is the way that, within socially excluded urban environ-

ments many individuals tend often to over identify (from a normative perspective) with

consumer goods in an attempt to create a sense of identity. As Carl Nightingale (1993)

outlined in his superb ethnographic study of black ghetto life in Philadelphia, one of the

central paradoxes of contemporary urban America is that members of the ‘underclass’ (a









term disliked by Nightingale and many others) are often in the same moment both socially

and economically excluded yet culturally and commercially included . In other words, while

black youths in the areas studied by Nightingale experienced tremendous feelings of alien-

ation and exclusion from traditional employment and educational opportunities, at the

same time they were also overexposed to American mainstream culture via advertising,

television, music and other forms of mass media that demand their ‘participation’ (see

Bourgois, 2003; Young, 2003: 396–9).4 Paraphrasing Zygmunt Bauman (1987: 149–69),

one might suggest that these individuals are at once ‘repressed’ and ‘seduced’. Augment-

ing the classic material analyses of Robert Merton (1938), Nightingale thus claims that

the tension caused within ghetto culture by this divisive combination is resolved by a

warped ‘overcompensation’ with many of the symbols of American consumer culture –

both mainstream and subversive:

Already at five and six, many kids in the neighbourhood can recite the whole canonof adult luxury – from Gucci, Evan Piccone, and Pierre Cardin, to Mercedes and BMW

. . . from the age of ten, kids become thoroughly engrossed in Nike’s and Reebok’s

cult of the sneaker . . . (Nightingale, 1993: 153–4)

Commenting on Nightingale’s study, the criminologist Jock Young suggests that this over-

compensation on cultural identification can be understood as a development of traditional

subcultural theory.5 Only, no longer should delinquency be explained in terms of a

Mertonian reaction to middle class expectations inculcated in the schoolroom (as famously

suggested by Albert Cohen (1955)); rather, the locus of engendering expectations has

shifted to a multimediated consumer culture and those expectations have in turn changedbeyond recognition:

Cohen is talking about the school whilst Nightingale talks about the mass media and

the consumer market . . . But these differences are easily resolved if we acknowledge

that the school is the chief carrier of undiluted meritocratic values of work, discipline

and reward, whilst the wider commercial culture is not: it is a celebration of luck,

hedonism and leisure, fun and good fortune . . . Furthermore, we are speaking of a

world 40 years on from Delinquent Boys – where the wider culture places a much

greater emphasis on hedonism and expressivity than the more balanced motifs of the

past. (Young, 1999: 85)

Returning to the UK, while not completely congruent, it is clear that many of the socio-

cultural tendencies outlined earlier are much in evidence within our own inner cities.

Certainly, the notion that some groups in society are at once both seduced and repressed

is abundantly clear when one considers the pronounced hypocrisy surrounding ‘chavs’

within the mainstream press. While the press media keeps up its onslaught against

‘chavs’ and their supposed ‘profligate lifestyle’, they appear oblivious to the fact that

many of the products which, they claim, serve to construct the contemporary ‘chav’ are

often the very ones advertised in their own pages; a point made forcibly by the col-

umnist, Julie Burchill (2005), when she writes: ‘The very things that chavs stand accused

of – aspiration, love of material goods, lack of communal values – are the very things

that have been fetishised by institutions such as the main political parties and the Daily









Mail for the past 30 years, but forced on the British people as surely as the Industrial

Revolution was’.

This is not the only irony that currently surrounds the ‘chav’ phenomenon and its close

relationship with strategies of explicit consumer display. For at the very moment that

certain marginalized groups within society are falling over themselves to construct identity

via high-profile brand names and other visible forms of conspicuous consumption, shifting

patterns and mechanisms of social control – both informal and formal – are slowly begin-

ning to emerge that turn around the same overt consumer symbols; a process that seems

likely to further contribute to the marginalization and exclusion of this latest underclass

classification. Some of the reasons for this development are explored in the final section.

‘Chav’/anti-‘chav’: From ‘celebrity chavs’ to policing by labels

One of the more intriguing aspects of the ‘chav’ phenomenon is its association with late-

modern celebrity (Rojek, 2001). Press media and key ‘chav’ websites devote considerable

space to the life and times of so called ‘Celebrity chavs’ such as glamour models Jordan

and Jodie Marsh, pop stars such as Eminem, ex Spice Girl Mel C, The Streets’ Mike Skinner,

Brian Harvey and Jenifer Ellison, former Big Bother contestants Jade Goody and Anthony

Hutton, the hapless lottery winner Michael Carroll, and England football star Wayne

Rooney and his ‘shopaholic’ partner Coleen McLoughlin; many of whom frequently find

themselves the subject of a ‘chav rating’ or ‘chav-star index’. One of the key features of

‘celebrity chavs’ is their close association with – indeed, often their construction through

– designer products ( pace the type of multi-page photo layouts that are the stock in tradeof popular celebrity magazines such as Hello and OK ). The infamous photograph of self-

styled ‘Queen of the Chavs’, former soap actress, Daniella Westbrook, and her young

child, both dressed head to toe in Burberry, and Posh and Becks’ well-documented

penchant for designer products (including, allegedly, a specially commissioned Italian

designer baby bottle) are obvious exemplars. Given the increased intertwining of tabloid

celebrity and branded apparel, perhaps we should not be surprised that many individuals

are only too keen to follow suit and replicate such overt displays. For example, one of the

softest stereotypical targets of the whole ‘chav’ phenomenon, the ‘chav single mum’, is

often roundly criticized for adorning her offspring – à la Westbrook – with expensive andthus apparently wholly inappropriate designer clothing and jewellery. Yet, given the

discussion above, such a strategy seems understandable as individuals, or in this case

young mothers keen to give their children an ‘advantage’, attempt to equip themselves

with what they consider to be the requisite ‘cultural capital’ (Bourdieu, 1984) to exist and

prosper within (often chaotic) late-modern lifeworlds (Hayward, 2004: 158–62).

However, in a cruel irony, rather than helping to recreate the purported lush life of so-

called ‘celebrity chavs’, street-level attempts to mobilize cultural capital based on overt

displays of designer clothing have instead inspired a whole new raft of bizarre micro social

control mechanisms, including everything from town centre pubs and night clubs refusing

entry to individuals wearing certain brands within their premises (‘No Timberlands or

Burberry’; see Madeley, 2003; Larkin, 2005), to the recent ‘zero tolerance’ policy imposed

on ‘designer hoodies’ and baseball caps (Figure 2) by major shopping centres such as









Bluewater in Kent and the Elephant and Castle in South London (see www.bbc.co.uk/

1/hi/england/kent/4534903.stm; see also Coleman (2005) on the ‘re-emphasis of the

visual in the politics of the street’ and associated strategies of urban surveillance and

control). Thus the situation arises in which many of the labels and monograms valorized

by young people as badges of identity serve also to function as overt signifiers of deviance.

As such they become tools of classification and identification by which agencies of social

control construct profiles of potential criminal protagonists. For example, in the Midlands

town of Leicester, local bars and police are collaborating in compiling lists of branded

clothing that they perceive to be socially problematic.6

A further irony, of course, is that, further up the youth culture chain, we are already

witnessing a pronounced shift away from overt brand names and ostentatious designer

labels, as certain subcultural groups and style setters at the cutting edge of the fashion

and culture industries increasingly attempt to distance themselves from the ‘chav’

phenomenon. Consider the situation within contemporary urban Japan, a place where

many of the practices associated with postmodern consumerism are at their zenith.

Among the cutting-edge of Japan’s shinjinrui (Japan’s consumption-oriented younger

generation; see Anderson and Wadkins, 1992) the trend now is to eschew mainstream

designer brands such as Nike or Gucci – they are simply deemed too accessible (and too

prone to counterfeiting). Instead, a new subculture has emerged that places primacy on

exclusivity. This is an underground world of micro labels that undertake no advertising or

marketing and rely solely on word of mouth. The smaller and more discrete the logo or

brand, the bigger the appeal to Japan’s ‘passionate specialists’ or ‘super consumers’ as

they are known (Hayward, 2004: chapter 4).As with so much of the current discourse surrounding the ‘chav’, this situation has

already been rehearsed within the underclass debate, or more specifically in relation to

the signs and symbols associated with so-called ‘gangsta rap’. While brands have always

been an intrinsic element of rap and hip-hop culture, in recent years the stakes have risen

considerably. In the late 1980s and early 90s hardcore rappers like Ice T or Tim Dogg

rapped about US$60 Nike trainers or 40oz bottles of Colt 45 malt liquor, today, the giants


FIGURE 2 ‘No baseball caps’

Source: http://www.thesource.me.uk








of corporate hip-hop like P. Diddy, 50 Cent or Jay-Z extol the virtues of £200 Prada

sneakers, Chanel jewellery or Gucci monogrammed clothing (Roberts, 2002). Yet, at the

precise moment that rappers became ‘tastemakers’, rebranding ‘gangster’ rap by melding

together images of criminality with street gang iconography and designer chic to create

a product that is immediately seductive to youth audiences (see Miller, 1995; Kubrin,

2005), we also saw (largely as a result of the so-called ‘war on gangs’, with its overtly

racist overtones) a pronounced shift in urban law enforcement and private policing prac-

tices based around these very same branded commodities. Without wishing to labour the

point, consider, for example, Mike Davis on how attempts to police ‘gangsta style’ and

its associated symbols and codes of stylized meaning within southern Los Angeles, served

only to further stigmatize and marginalize tens of thousands of non-Anglo young people,

creating what he ultimately describes as an entire ‘gang generation’ (Davis, 1990;

Hayward, 2004: chapter 4). Our earlier statement about the relationship between race

and the ‘chav’ discourse notwithstanding, we should perhaps mention here the extent to

which such tendencies reflect ongoing appropriations of black ‘ghetto’ culture by white

youth. This cultural hybridity and racial bricolage can be seen in everything from the

marketing and consumption of the rapper Eminem – perhaps the key stalking horse for

crossover white hip-hop – to the recent tendency among white and Asian street ‘cliques’

to ‘flash’ gang hand signals, a process initially associated with Chicano gangs and the

Latino ‘Cholo’ aesthetic (see Vigil, 1988).

Thus we see that the ‘chav’ phenomenon partakes of a social process in which

consumption, identity, marginality and social control converge; consumption practices

now serve as the locus around which exclusion is configured and the excluded are clas-sified, identified and subjected to (increasingly intense) regimes of management.

CONCLUSION

In this article we have analysed the media construction of ‘chavs’ by locating this discourse

within the broader socioeconomic processes of marginalization. We have argued that the

‘chav’ phenomenon recapitulates the discursive creation of the underclass, while simul-

taneously reconfiguring it within the space of commodity consumption. This displace-ment–replacement can best be understood, we suggest, by attending to the wider shifts

through which a hypermediated consumer capitalism has become increasingly dominant

in contemporary western societies. However, our aim is not (à la Burchill) to valorize and

redeem what has been denigrated about these consumption choices and practices. To do

so would merely endorse an all-encompassing consumption-driven socioeconomic system

which itself can be seen as profoundly iniquitous and criminogenic (see Hall, 1997; Hall

and Winlow, 2004). However, nor do we seek to lend weight to the vilification of those

who find themselves ‘seduced’ by the siren call of lifestyle, sign, symbol and brand. To do

so would merely serve to further obfuscate the underlying dynamics that drive this exces-sive consumptive process. The current discourse on the ‘chavs’ finds its ideological mode

of articulation by attributing to individual cultural choices what can in fact be seen as the

outcome of a cruel capitalist perversity: the production, on the one hand, of a social strata









excluded from full productive participation in the neoliberal economy, and on the other

the relentless dissemination of messages that link social worth and well-being to one’s

ability to consume at all costs. It is precisely this dissimulation at the heart of the ‘chav’

discourse that, we hold, needs to be exposed and critiqued.

Notes

1 We should state that, although the findings generated from Lexis-Nexis searches are often very

seductive, they are far from comprehensive, drawing on databases that can be either

inconsistent or incomplete. That said, the general trends picked up by Lexis-Nexis are difficult to

dismiss.

2 We should state that in no way do we endorse Burchill’s rather celebratory stance regarding the

‘chav’ phenomenon. Indeed, Burchill, like so many of the social commentators she criticizes, is

clearly guilty of a series of class absolutisms. Consider, for example this slice of essentialism from

her much-discussed Sky One TV documentary Chavs: ‘Chavs stand between us and boring

moribund middle-class tastefulness – which is a sort of living death. Chavs are a mirror held up

to us all. The middle classes look and see only their own failings. They hate us for their lack of

moral values. They envy us our flare for fun. They’re jealous because we not they are our

nation’s heroes . . . when they laugh at us they only show what fools they are’ (Chavs, Sky One

2005)

3 This emphasis on consumption practices in the construction of the ‘chav’ identity is further

illustrated by the much discussed ‘chav rating’ system posted at

www.getlippy.com/play/quizzes/chavquiz/. Of the 40 questions posed in a bid to ascertain one’s

so called ‘chav rating’, 26 relate to specific consumer items (including seven specific brand

names).

4 The term ‘down-loaded’ is useful here in that it helps to explain how certain emotions and social

messages can be received and assimilated by the individual despite often being inherently

contradictory or paradoxical in nature. For example, the emotions engendered by advertising

very often, both incite and deny, compel and preclude.

5 See relatedly many of classic early criminological studies on the relationship between crime and

style by the likes of Finestone (1964) and Chambliss (1991). Here much is made of ‘street style’,

‘proper dress’ (Finestone, 1964: 284–5) and seemingly irresponsible forms of expenditure – a

great deal of which had much to do with the concept of portable wealth (i.e. one needs to turnone’s day-to-day street life into a ‘gracious work of art’ (p. 284) because it is here (and certainly

not at one’s domicile) that reputations were made and displayed).

6 See ‘Chav Ban to Deter Thefts’

(www.news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/england/northamptonshire/3983633.stm)

and ‘Pub-goers Facing Burberry Ban’

(www.news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/england/leicestershire/3583900.stm).

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MAJID YAR, Lecturer in Criminology, University of Kent, UK. Email: [email protected]


Documents

Hayward 'Chav Phenomenon